


Cardinal Rule

by lavvyan



Series: Dark Side Danny [1]
Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Criminals, Getting Back Together, M/M, Mob Boss Danny, high school sweethearts, that's how you know this is an AU, the restaurant actually gets to be called Steve's
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-25
Updated: 2018-04-25
Packaged: 2019-04-27 18:16:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14431362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavvyan/pseuds/lavvyan
Summary: "But you're expecting to die?" Chin asks.Peterson pulls a face. "I forgot the cardinal rule. I committed a crime on Oahu and pointed a gun at this guy," he nods at Steve. "Depending on where you lock me up, I got two, maybe three weeks left."In which Steve's puppy love turns out to have lasted for some 20+ years and love can make the most hardened criminal go legit. Well. Mostly legit. Ish.





	Cardinal Rule

**Author's Note:**

> First posted on Tumblr, written for tari-aldarion for this prompt: "During a bank robbery you’re surprised when the criminals seem to recognize you and retreat in fear. Only later do you learn that your high school sweet-heart now runs a global crime syndicate and has you placed on a “No Harm” list. You decide to pay them a visit after all these years."
> 
> Not beta-read, concrit welcome.

The perp is sitting with his head down, rocking back and forth as well as he can while he's cuffed to the chair. Steve exchanges a puzzled glance with Chin. This guys has warrants out for his arrest in seven different countries, several of them explicitly warning against his violent nature. If it weren't for the matching finger prints, Steve would think they had the wrong guy. 

Well. The prints, and the fact that the guy had been in the process of robbing a bank, going about it none too gently until he'd seen Steve among the people sitting on the floor, recoiled, and almost dropped his gun in his haste to give himself up. 

"Oh shit," he'd breathed, "I forgot."

And that had been the only thing he'd said all the way through his arrest. 

"Rick Peterson," Chin says, "born in New Jersey, moved to-"

"Yeah, sure, look," Peterson interrupts. For all he supposedly hasn't been to New Jersey in years, his accent is still strong. Something in Steve's gut tightens. "Why don't you just tell me what you're charging me with, I'll tell you everything about it, and then you lock me up somewhere nice and safe, yeah? Isolation, maybe. Somewhere I can enjoy the last few weeks of my life."

"Your file doesn't mention any terminal illnesses," Steve says. It's the only thing he can think of that isn't some variation of, 'brah, what the hell?'

"That's because stupidity isn't classified as a medical condition," Peterson says. 

"But you're expecting to die?" Chin asks. 

Peterson pulls a face. "I forgot the cardinal rule. I committed a crime on Oahu and pointed a gun at this guy," he nods at Steve. "Depending on where you lock me up, I got two, maybe three weeks left."

Steve looks at Chin, but his partner doesn't seem to be following the conversation any better than Steve does. 

"What?" Steve finally asks. 

"Man." Peterson looks at Steve with a faint expression of pity. "Didn't you ever wonder how none of your crazy stunts ever turn out fatal?" 

Steve can't say he did. 

Seems like now would be a good time to start. 

~~~

They don't get anything useful out of Peterson. He readily admits to any of the charges they put before him and walks them through how he did it, but doesn't explain his comments regarding Steve. 

Four days later, Peterson dies on the way to Halawa, in a freak accident involving a wild boar, a mud slide, and the transport's emergency toolbox. 

He's the only casualty.

~~~

A week after that, Steve finds himself in a shootout with some drug runners from the mainland. It's six against one. All he has for cover is a stack of crates made of a wood that's so soft, it wouldn't protect him against a butter knife. None of the shots get even close to hitting him. 

In the past, he'd have chalked that up to his opponents being lousy gunmen. 

Now? He isn't so sure.

~~~

"Okay," Jerry says as Steve, Chin, Kono and Freddy gather around the tech table. "I just want you all to know that this wasn't easy to find and if you wanted to show your gratitude by giving me a badge, I wouldn't say no."

"No," Steve says.

"Wait until you see what I have," Jerry says, and brings a familiar set of faces up to the screen. "So those drug runners from a few weeks ago were working for a Marco Reyes." A sweep of his hand, and a dark-haired man with hard eyes stares down at them. "Colombian drug lord, real piece of work. A few years ago, there was an FBI investigation into how he seemed to be laundering a lot of money through an investment firm in New York, but it was quietly shut down. One of the preliminary findings was that an unusually large portion of the money was being kept as fees, suggesting that maybe Reyes isn't as much of a free agent as he'd like everyone to believe. The investment firm is run by this lovely lady," another sweep brings up the picture of a pretty black woman, one corner of her mouth tilted up in an amused smirk at something off-camera, "Grace Tilwell, long-term fiancé of one Matthew Williams."

The next photo that appears is of Tilwell and a handsome but unremarkable man, both dressed up for what seems to be a fancy party. Steve frowns. The man looks vaguely familiar, but Steve can't quite put his finger on it. 

"According to gossip, she's very much the brains of that relationship." Jerry smiles briefly, always happy to see a woman succeed at playing a men's game. "But the investment firm is just one part." Jerry's smile fades. "Real estate fraud. Art theft. Heists. Bank robberies that go for the deposit boxes rather than the tills. Designer drugs. All of it targeting the rich and stupid. All of it coming back to this guy."

The face on the screen is older than Steve remembers. The blond hair is combed back rather than gelled into sticking up wildly, and those laugh-lines definitely weren't there twenty years ago. But the eyes are the same, somehow open and cynical at the same time, and the mouth still has that funny little tilt that made Steve want to lick at it.

"Danny Williams," he breathes. 

Jerry asks, quietly, "Wanna tell us why this guy has a 'No Harm' order on you, boss?"

Everyone's attention is on Steve now, but he can't look away from the photo. From Danny. 

All these years, and those eyes still make his heart beat faster. 

"Wait," Freddy says, "Danny Williams, as in, 'Danny from New Jersey,' Danny Williams?"

Steve nods.

"Holy shit," Freddy says. 

~~~

After his mom had died, Steve's dad had sent his kids to the mainland. Mary had gone to live with Aunt Deb on the West Coast. Steve had ended up on the other side of the continent, living with his mom's brother, Douglas, in New Jersey, at least until he'd finished high school and signed up for the Navy. 

He'd hated New Jersey. The winters were cold, the waves were a joke, and the people were loud and quick to argue and there were entirely too many of them. Steve had been miserable. 

The only thing about New Jersey he hadn't hated was Danny. Every bit as loud and quick to explode as everyone around them, he'd had a protective streak towards his siblings that Steve couldn't help being drawn to. And for some reason, Danny had pulled Steve into that protective bubble and kept him there, even as he called Steve a stalker and a 'pineapple-brained neanderthal idiot.' 

Smart, jaded, troublesome Danny, who got into one detention after another for fighting and gave Steve his mittens when Steve's fingers got red and achy from the cold. Danny, who yelled at his teachers and whispered quiet nonsense into Steve's ear when the crowds and the noise and the loneliness were too much. Danny, who was going to major in business and take over the mob and steal from the rich, and who kissed Steve more sweetly than anyone ever since. 

_Danny._

~~~

Danny Williams, apparently head of one of the world's most elaborate crime syndicates, who two decades later _is_ gleefully stealing from the rich (and getting them hooked on drugs but only if they are over the age of 21, which is so damn typical finding out about it nearly gave Steve a migraine) and still hasn't let Steve out of that protective bubble. 

What the hell. 

~~~

Steve goes to New Jersey. 

He doesn't even know why. Part of him wants to believe that, as the head of the Hawaiian Governor's task force, he's going to take down a criminal empire. Part of him keeps replaying the way Peterson's face had drained of color when he'd recognized Steve. Part of him, the part that used to believe losing contact with Danny meant that Danny, like everyone else, had lost interest in Steve and simply moved on, is starting to wonder if maybe instead Danny was taking care of him from afar the only way he knew how. Being a known associate of a rising criminal probably would have tanked Steve's career before it even started. 

That last part is the one that keeps Steve restless and on edge, because that's the part that would change... 

Everything. 

~~~

He told Freddy about Danny, just once, half-mad with pain from a variety of broken bones and trying to distract himself from the fact that the next morphine shot was still half an hour away. He told Freddy about Danny's laugh, which was really more of a giggle, and about how Danny could be intimidating as fuck even though he was barely 5'5". He told Freddy about Danny's insanely high scores at Ms. Pac-Man and the nights they spent at the boardwalks, and about how Danny would've dragged that fucking doctor here by now to knock Steve out if that was what it took to spare him more pain.

He didn't tell Freddy about the kissing, or anything that came after, but Freddy figured it out anyway. 

Steve still doesn't know how. 

~~~

Jerry's back home, busy doing research on Danny's organization that would make the FBI drool if he ever decided to share it, but Steve doesn't need to know the details. He just marches into a certain investment firm and tells the wide-eyed receptionist that he'd like to see Grace Tilwell about Danny Williams, please. His name? Steve McGarrett. 

He's shown into a nice corner office on the top floor, dark carpet and expensive-looking wooden furniture. Baseball memorabilia are on display here and there, sharing space with pictures of grinning white children. Steve picks one up and studies the face of a brown-haired girl maybe twelve years old. She looks nothing like Tilwell and only a little like Matt. 

"That's Grace," a voice says behind him. "My eldest. She's fourteen now."

Steve carefully sets the frame back down and takes a slow breath. Then he turns around. 

Danny is standing in the doorway, hands in the pockets of some nicely-tailored suit pants. He's in shirtsleeves and a tie, no jacket, and Steve wants to... 

Steve has no idea what he wants. 

"You're married?" he asks. It's the first thing that comes to mind in the face of... of Danny. Live and in the flesh, Danny, just standing right there, almost close enough to touch. And it shouldn't matter this much; shouldn't feel this important, but god, it's like the last twenty years never happened. Or rather, they happened, but not a single year mattered if it didn't have Danny in it.

Steve's palms are suddenly sweaty.

"Nah, she and her brother are adopted." Danny shrugs. His gaze seems stuck to Steve, taking in as much of him as possible. "Not that I didn't have my share of fun, but..." 

Another shrug, this one more awkward. 

Steve takes a step closer. 

"But?" he asks, licking his lips. Danny's eyes follow the flick of his tongue like they're hypnotized by it. 

"I, uh." Danny clears his throat. "I always considered myself kinda taken." He pulls a face. "It's stupid, I know."

The office has a very nice set of windows, one of them even tilted open, but there's still not enough air in the room. Steve's chest aches. He remembers this, Danny's rueful self-deprecation. He also remembers reaching out and feeling those shoulders beneath his palms as he kissed Danny back into being a swaggering, self-assured force of nature. 

And he remembers his small handful of girlfriends, all of them dark-haired and confident and nothing like Danny, and how he'd never let any of them all the way in, not even Catherine. 

It's starting to dawn on Steve that Danny isn't the only guy in this room who may have been kinda stupid. 

Kinda taken. 

"Um," he says. 

Danny sighs. 

"What are you doing here, Steve? Did the FBI finally get the bright idea to send you in as my honey trap?" He sounds equal parts resigned and amused, like Steve might actually have a shot at taking Danny down if he wanted, but only because Danny would let him.

Steve thinks about it. He thinks about pushing forty and how he's taking longer and longer to bounce back from job-related injuries. He thinks about Kono talking about getting minions of her own. He thinks about Danny and his carefully-aimed setup and how a Colombian drug lord had cut his losses on at least half a million dollars' worth of product rather than daring to take Steve out of the picture. 

He thinks about twenty years of being lonely without realizing it. Twenty years and one guy, keeping an eye on him even when Steve thought himself completely alone. 

He thinks that, maybe, the oxygen-deprivation is affecting his brain. 

But. 

"I'm here to talk about retirement options," he says, making a split-second decision and running with it because that's what he does. 

Danny blinks. 

"Retirement options?" he repeats, and Steve remembers this, too: the rhythm of their back-and-forth.

"Yeah, retirement options," he says more firmly. 

Danny shakes his head at him with a faintly mocking grin. "You wanna be a mob enforcer, babe?"

"I was thinking more along the lines of getting a family. Starting a..." he falters, once again picks the first thing he can think of, "a restaurant."

"A restaurant. You want to start a restaurant?"

"Yeah, a family restaurant on Oahu." Steve's warming to the idea because, why not? He doesn't know the first thing about cooking, but he knows tasty when he tries it. How card can it be to find a decent chef? Surely Kamekona knows someone? "Something nice and quiet and maybe a little upscale." 

No sweaty, half-dressed tourists in _his_ establishment, thank you very much. 

"Uh huh." 

"But I need some help." He licks his lips again, enjoys the way Danny's mouth opens a little in response. "You wouldn't know how to run a business, would you?"

Danny huffs out a laugh. "I might, uh, have some experience running a business, yeah."

His eyes are twinkling. Steve takes another step closer. 

"Great," he says, in a tone that declares this the end of all discussion, "I'm making you my partner."

Danny's grin fades. Steve pretends it doesn't make his stomach lurch. 

What if he got it all wrong?

"Steve," Danny says, incredulous. "Steven. You want me to walk away from all this," he gestures at the expensive stuff surrounding them, and something in Steve settles at the familiar way Danny's hands chop through the air, "pack up my kids and move to that pineapple-infested hellhole of yours, and for what? For a family restaurant?"

"No." Steve closes the distance between them, certain now that this is right because this is _Danny_ , and Steve wants him, wants him back, wants him to choose Steve the way Steve is beginning to figure out he would choose Danny, over and over again. "For me."

"For-"

Steve cuts him off by kissing him, and it's like...

It's like nothing he's ever experienced. It's not like coming home because home is a concept Steve barely remembers and stopped wishing for a long time ago. It's not like falling back together, because they're both different from the boys they used to be and will have to learn each other all over again. It's not like an explosion because it's too quiet for that. It's not like something flowering into existence because it's too old for that. It's not desperation. It's not happiness. It's not any of a hundred things. 

It's Danny. 

It's feeling more alive than Steve has in years. It's wanting something for himself so violently he'll kill whoever tries to take it from him. It's all his lonely hours crumbling in the fierce grip of Danny's hands on Steve's hips. 

"Okay, babe," Danny gasps as they pull apart. He's shaking, but there's a gleam in his eyes that makes Steve fear for everyone who tries to tell Danny he can't just up and leave. "Okay."

~~~

The transition to civilian life goes more smoothly than Steve expected. 

Danny is cheerfully unruffled in the face of Five-0's distrust, invites Freddy's toddler twins to Charlie's birthday party and happily snarks with Lou as they decimate the buffet, bonding over a mutual dislike of deep-dish pizza. He wins them over when, yelling and cursing, he pulls apart some trumped up corruption charges against Steve that would have cast suspicions on the whole team, and becomes their friend when he spends an afternoon helping them to find Adam, who somehow got himself trapped in a shipping container in the middle of Oahu's rainforest. 

Jerry's files never make it to the FBI. 

_Steve's_ becomes a cop restaurant, where detectives go to catch a breath and lab techs take their significant others when they have something to celebrate or to make up for. Danny can't seem to decide if he's horrified or amused by this. Steve is just gloriously, incandescently happy to have him there. 

Steve still goes in to consult on cases from time to time. Danny argues that he should be allowed to do some consulting of his own. Steve tells him that no, under no circumstances, no way is Danny to return to his nefarious ways, and turns Danny's frown upside down by way of a blowjob in Danny's shiny new Camaro.

Maybe it's not entirely fair to ask Danny to give up every aspect of the life he's know, except for his kids, but Steve was a Lieutenant Commander in the Navy and then led a high-profile task force. He's the one in charge here. 

~~~

"You know," Nahele says on his way to the prep station, "the weirdest thing happened to me today. This guy jumped out at me and he had a knife and I thought I was getting mugged..."

Steve sucks in a sharp breath, ready to go out and beat someone into a pulp, but Danny's hand on his arm keeps him still. 

"… but then he saw the _Steve's_ logo on my t-shirt," Nahele continues, oblivious, "and kinda went pale and asked me if I knew the way to the beach." He snorts and shakes his head. "It was... really, really weird."

"Yeah," Steve says slowly, looking at Danny, "that sounds really weird."

Danny keeps his gaze somewhere on the ceiling as he scratches the side of his nose.

"Yeah," he echoes, "weird."

And grins. 

~~~

The End. (Ish. For now.)

**Author's Note:**

> I fully intend to revisit this 'verse. If there's anything in particular you'd like to see, tell me about it and I'll take it into consideration.


End file.
